every colonist since their first brush with the creatures.

He snapped the cap off the glass splinter point, designed to pin and
then break off in the hide so that any clawing foot which tore out an
arrow could not rid the victim of the poisonous head. The archer's
mark was under the throat where the scales were soft and there was a
chance of piercing the skin with the first shot.

The growls of the two feeding youngsters covered the snap of the bow
cord as Dalgard shot. And he did not miss. The brilliant scarlet
feather of the arrow quivered in the baggy roll of flesh.

With a scream which tore at the human's eardrums, the snake-devil
reared to its hind feet. It made a tearing motion with the banded
forearm which scraped across the back of one of its companions. And
then it fell back to the blood-stained sand, limp, a greenish foam
drooling from its fangs.

As the monster that the dead devil had raked roused, Dalgard had his
chance for another good mark. And the second scarlet shaft sped
straight to the target.

But the third creature which had been sleeping belly down on the sand
presented only its armored back, a hopeless surface for an arrow to
pierce. It had opened its eyes and was watching the now motionless
bodies of its fellows. But it showed no disposition to move. It was
almost as if it somehow understood that as long as it remained in its
present position it was safe.

"The small ones--"